


Fields of Gold

by harmonymotel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Not Really Character Death, Precious Peter Parker, Songfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmonymotel/pseuds/harmonymotel
Summary: Nothing really matters anymore. His machines, his inventions, his wealth -- he’d trade all of it in a heartbeat just to hear Peter’s laugh again.To just have one more day.





	Fields of Gold

It’s there every time he closes his eyes.

No matter how hard he tries to push it away, no matter how much alcohol scorches its way down his throat, Peter is still gone. Still shaking and clutching at him, pleading for his life as Tony holds him in his arms, the pit of dread in his stomach clawing him apart from the inside out in a mantra of _not peter not peter not peter **please** not peter-- _

Tony grits his teeth and downs another shot, and it doesn’t even burn.

He’s spiralling again, and he’s well aware of it; what’s more is that he can’t bring himself to care. He’s decided recently that nothing matters anymore. Not the Avengers, not Ironman, not Stark Industries, in fact, the whole fucking world could burn to a crisp at this very moment and Tony wouldn’t give a shit. He’s done. He’s realized that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t save everyone. Sometimes he can’t save _anyone_. Peter’s scared brown eyes haunt his every waking moment, and it’s all so futile, so disgustingly useless. His machines, his inventions, his wealth -- he’d trade all of it in a heartbeat just to hear Peter’s laugh again.

And yeah, that kid had become the fucking light of his life. After the Accords fiasco he’d wanted nothing more than to drown his troubles in alcohol and sleepless nights spent in his lab, but Peter, whether he realized it or not, kept him from it. Peter Parker, the fifteen year old science geek from Queens who just so happened to be able to stick to ceilings, had somehow managed to completely flip the script on _Tony Stark_. He’d grown accustomed to Peter’s rants and rambles, his almost-comical expressions, the way he hopped around the lab like the freaking Energizer bunny with a boundless excitement and a bottomless hunger to learn everything he could from his childhood hero. The way his eyes lit up when Tony gave him praise, how he looked at him like he hung the damn moon. Tony would never know what he did to deserve that kid.

Maybe the universe had realized he didn’t.

Everything is quiet now, large and silent and echoing, and even though he managed just fine before Peter, the loss is so thick in the air it’s sometimes difficult to breathe. People come and go, Rhodey checks on him occasionally to make sure he hasn’t passed out in the bathroom and choked on his own vomit, but for the most part he is alone. Alone to dwell on all the people he couldn’t save, because that’s what Tony Stark does. He drags innocent people into dangerous situations and they pay the price.

Peter’s last words to him are constantly on repeat, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_.

Tony robbed him of his childhood, of his life, and he said, _“I’m sorry.”_

He can’t get his head around it. He can only play it like a movie in his brain, over and over, _“I’m sorry,”_ and then the kid -- _his_ kid -- crumbling to ash in his embrace. It’s enough to make Tony sick to his stomach, and usually he ends up dry heaving over the toilet with a bottle of whiskey or bourbon or whatever-the-fuck within arm’s reach. He’s pathetic, but it’s all he can do. There’s no moving on from this. No getting over it. It’s _Peter_.

This time he doesn’t end up over the toilet, but staggering into Peter’s designated bedroom that is now empty. The sheets on the kid’s bed are still wrinkled dully in the form of his body, and Tony doubts he’ll ever change them. He looks around, feels a swell of warmth and heartache as he takes in all the ways Peter has made this space so painfully _him_ , from the Star Wars poster tacked to the wall above the desk to the too-big T-shirt laid over its chair that read ‘I SURVIVED MY TRIP TO NYC’.

He ventures further, soaking in the unfinished Spanish homework still lying on that desk, the six multicolored highlighters that Peter insisted were all extremely necessary (there had been, of course, light teasing on Tony’s part because come on, who needs six highlighters), the open Physics textbook on the floor and the webshooter the kid had been tinkering with directly next to it. He can almost hear Peter humming while he works, usually Bowie or Sting, because as he had once confided, Bowie and Sting were Uncle Ben’s favorites and so by default, his too. Slowly, they even became favorites of Tony’s.

His eyes find Peter’s bedside table, landing on the ridiculously outdated MP3 player that the kid was adamant about keeping because it had been a gift from May, regardless of how many times Tony referred to it as an artifact that belonged in a museum. Now he’s grateful it’s still there, another piece of Peter that he hasn’t managed to ruin. He approaches it hesitantly and is only slightly shocked to find that it still turns on despite being a technological dinosaur -- the screen lights up and Tony almost smiles, because how well does he know his kid? He presses the center play button and is nearly knocked off his feet with the magnitude of emotion that slams into him as _Fields of Gold_ begins to murmur softly into the room, subtle and soothing. His eyes blur with tears and he slides down against the bed all the way to the floor, laying his head back against the mattress. Grief and nostalgia flood him in overwhelming fervor.

_“Please, please, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go.”_

The tears slip out and spill over his cheeks, the ocean inside him unable to hold itself back. Above all else, above the guilt, above the anger, above the fear, it’s the sadness that stays. The loss. The realization that his good days, if they could even be called that, have come to pass. They left with the fifteen year old science geek from Queens who had smarts out the window but the biggest, kindest, most caring heart Tony has ever encountered. Any good in the world died when Peter did.

God, he’s never felt so _lost_.

After a while he tunes back into reality, noticing a small pile of Peter’s clothes lying next to him on the floor, and poking out from the bottom is a bulky pair of black goggles surrounded by a red hoodie. All the breath seems to leave Tony’s body, and he grasps at the fabric, pulling it out from under the rest. He lifts the silly thing in front of him, still hardly able to believe the kid had pulled off Spider-man for so long in this glorified onesie.

Sting continues to croon to him in the quiet of the bedroom,

_I never made promises lightly,_

_And there have been some that I’ve broken,_

and he crushes the thing against his chest, allowing the scratchy material to absorb the ludicrous amount of tears he’s shedding, and lets out a single broken sob.

_But I swear in the days still left_

_We’ll walk in fields of gold_

“Just give me one more day,” Tony whispers into the hoodie, the tears leaving a salty taste in his mouth. He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to, he certainly doesn’t believe in God (the thought that any God would allow Peter to die would only enrage him) and he’s never been a particularly spiritual person. But he’s pleading with whoever would listen. With whoever might hear his pain. “I just need one more day.”

_Oh, we’ll walk in fields of gold . . ._

Eventually, he succumbs to exhaustion, the red hoodie falling from his grip as he leans his head back against Peter’s mattress and closes his eyes, darkness engulfing him. The last thing he thinks of before sleep takes him is Peter’s smile, and how he’ll never see it again.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you’re enjoying so far! don’t worry, it’s not all angst, i’ve got a few things up my sleeve. thank you for reading, and if you’re liking it please let me know! next update very soon! :)


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